


Dexterity

by helens78



Category: Lord of the Rings RPF, Troy RPF
Genre: Angst, Jealousy, M/M, One of My Favorites
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-03-17
Updated: 2004-05-25
Packaged: 2017-10-05 11:36:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 4,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/41338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helens78/pseuds/helens78
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Orlando wants people, he's used to getting them.  When he doesn't, there are consequences.  Some people tip over and break when he goes after them; others come to him already broken.  Ultimately, someone learns to play the game.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I Don't Mean You

Everyone's eyes are dark today. Everyone's making accusations.

Sean's not an uncommon name. A lot of blokes have it -- hell, two of the Fellowship are named Sean. And if Orlando's telling tales about a bloke named Sean and a rough-and-tumble night that went badly, one that brought him back with bruises along his ribs, if he's saying it happened with someone named _Sean_... well, he doesn't have to say _Bean_. All he needs to do is give a look over his shoulder at Sean Bean, who everyone already knows is into the rough stuff, and let his eyes flicker away fast. Orlando's an actor, after all. He knows how to make fear and shame seem convincing.

Sean doesn't understand it, doesn't know what he's done to get these looks sent his way. He's been nice to Orlando. He's been polite. He's never been condescending, and when Orlando got drunk and needed a place to stay for the night, Sean let him crash on his sofa.

The only thing Sean can think of that he's done wrong is turning Orlando down. Sean had enough to manage, really -- spending as much time as he did with Viggo kept him busy enough for half a dozen men, let alone one bloke from Sheffield who wasn't going to be in Wellington for very long.

Maybe the guilt got to Orlando after a while, because he's started telling people he's not talking about Sean _Bean_. Definitely not _that_ Sean. Of course, he's saying it with an odd look in his eyes, one where his eyes go a little too wide. It's the quintessential _methinks the lady doth protest too much_, and the more Orlando says _No, no, Christ, it wasn't Bean_, the less everyone believes him. He's _good_.

Viggo puts a hand on Sean's shoulder and squeezes, and Sean covers Viggo's hand with his own. "Rough day?" Viggo asks.

Sean doesn't say anything, though he nods a couple of times.

"I'm sorry," Viggo murmurs. "Sorry you got caught in the middle."

And that's the real problem. It's got nothing to do with Sean.

Viggo's the one Orlando's after. Viggo, who's had eyes for Sean and no one else since he got off the plane. Viggo, who Orlando fancied himself in love with for weeks. When the offer was made, when the confession was given, Viggo was gentle about it. More gentle than Sean had been, really, because he _liked_ Orlando. Orlando was a good friend.

Orlando didn't want to be a good friend. He didn't stop asking. And eventually his constant offers made Viggo snap.

_I don't want you that way. Stop fucking asking me; I'm taken._

Going after Viggo would be too obvious. _Hell hath no fury,_ as they say, and Orlando's sense of rejection was hardly a secret.

Sean, though.

Sean's a common name.

"It's not _that_ Sean," Orlando's said.

If Sean would let him ask it, Viggo would have one question for Orlando.

_What the hell did Sean ever do to you?_


	2. Tracking Movements

Orlando is a manipulative little shit. Eric's seen it before, of course, on the set in Morocco. You give him what he wants and everything's fine. Stand in his way and he'll think of something to do to make you wish you hadn't.

Which is fine. Eric wasn't in competition with Orlando for anything, and when Orlando knocked on Eric's door that night, Eric didn't have a compelling reason to turn him down. Orlando was gone before dawn, and Eric gave Orlando a little extra attention for a few days, just long enough to keep Orlando's ego in good shape and let Orlando have the satisfaction of saying _Hey, mate, it was just one night. Don't do things longer-term. No hard feelings, right?_

So Eric knows what he's getting into when he arrives on the set in London for studio work and Orlando immediately starts up the friendly routine. "So good to see you again, can you believe we're doing this movie together, _brothers_, there's a laugh..."

But Eric lets his guard down a little too much when he meets Sean. His eyes linger, and he ends up smiling once too often. Nobody expects Orlando to be so fucking _sharp_. To catch everything, every look, every glance. And Eric knows better than to pretend he's got something to hide. One glimpse of that and Orlando will fucking _own_ him. Christ.

So when Orlando asks, it's an easy answer of _Yeah, I'd shag him, who wouldn't_, and he ignores the flash in Orlando's eyes that speaks of cross-ocean history. He invites Orlando back to his hotel, because Orlando wants it that way -- Eric making the offer so Orlando can decide whether or not to give Eric what he wants.

Orlando's a manipulative little bastard, and Eric's been trying to outgame him from day one. In Morocco it was easy. Here Eric's not so sure.

Orlando turns Eric down, and Eric makes sure to look disappointed. Part of him even is. It's good to keep friends close, but it'd be good to keep Orlando closer. And Eric's not sure he wants to know who put an offer on the table that beat out his. He saw the look Sean gave Orlando. He thinks it might be the same look a moth would give a candleflame if it had time to look.

But Eric's got enough to worry about. He's got lines to learn. Balance to keep. Dreams of green eyes to have before he goes back to work in the morning.


	3. Ghosts of Touch

Sean's eyes are bloodshot when Eric meets him for coffee in the morning. This is a man who didn't sleep. And he can't blame it on bad hotel beds the way Eric can -- while they're still doing studio work, Sean's going home at night, home to his dog and cats and lover.

_Lover._ Eric remembers the look on Orlando's face when Sean mentioned his _lover_ for the first time in front of Eric. It was news that took Eric by surprise, but from the look on Orlando's face, it certainly wasn't a surprise to him. If Eric were in a suspicious frame of mind -- and when is he ever not where Orlando's concerned -- he'd think Orlando orchestrated the whole fucking conversation so he could see the look on Eric's face when Sean let out the unmistakeable name _Viggo_.

Orlando is far too fucking easily amused. And Eric's acting skills, apparently, were better in Morocco.

That night he made the same offer to Orlando he's been making every so often since they ran into each other again. Only this time he actually gave a damn what Orlando's answer was, and when Orlando said no, Eric went to the first bar with the right clientele and fucked someone with blond hair and dark eyes into a wall. He doesn't know what color those eyes were. Only that they were dark, and by the time Eric lost himself the way he needed to, those eyes were closed and didn't come open again until after Eric had left the back room for a while and come back to make sure the guy was all right. And then his eyes skittered away from Eric and Eric knew it was time to go home.

A few eyedrops and some coffee will have Sean looking normal again, but Eric asks what's wrong anyway. Sean makes a dismissive gesture and shakes Eric off, and that hurts somehow. More than it did when Eric first heard the word _lover_ off Sean's lips. It hurts knowing something's wrong and there's nothing he can do.

Sean doesn't linger on the set when his shots are done. He heads home, giving Eric a squeeze on the shoulder as he goes.

Later that night Eric can still feel the press of fingers on his shoulder, but this time they're not Sean's. He stares down into Orlando's eyes and plants his arms so he can fuck Orlando harder, and Orlando's grin grows broad under Eric's thrusts. His fingers dig into flesh, and Eric can feel Sean's touch there; they bite with sharp fingernails, leaving crescents, and Eric still can't fuck the feel of Sean out of his skin.


	4. Shifting Balance

Malta is far too warm for Orlando's taste. He's not looking foward to Baja, either. Orlando likes watching Eric sweat, but he's not so fond of sweating on his own.

Malta's also very far away from home, and when Sean's this far from home, the rules change. The touches he can't follow up on at home become preludes to nights spent out late, invitations that are accepted before they're even given.

Sean's had Eric from the minute the plane touched down. And he grins at Orlando from time to time, just before leaving with Eric for the evening.

It disgusts Orlando even as he curses himself for letting it. It's not that there was ever anything going on between himself and Eric for Sean to fuck up. It's not even that Orlando's jealous. But Sean's using Eric to take a public slap at Orlando, and Eric's letting it happen. Doesn't even care enough to say _Enough, Sean; fuck me all you want, but leave Orlando out of it._

And God, Sean isn't even trying to be subtle. All those smug looks Sean gives Orlando, whether anyone's looking or not. The way Sean makes it sound as though he gives a damn about Eric, when he barely gave him the time of day in London. The easy public affection that Sean was never known for before, but is now displaying with Eric -- Sean's an actor, and Orlando's his fucking audience. Orlando's being played. He knows it. Sean isn't trying to hide it. And Orlando still can't look away.

It's Eric's fucking fault, though. He ought to know better. He's smart enough to know the difference between touches and looks that mean something and ones that just happen because some blond football-obsessed middle-aged slut has a grudge against Orlando for a fucking misunderstanding in New Zealand.

Eric's smart enough, yeah. He's never been taken in by Orlando's touches or looks or words for a minute. It burns Orlando up admitting to that, but it's true. It's why Orlando's never spent more time with Eric. He can't game Eric. Eric lets him lead, but it's very much about _letting_ that lead happen. So either Sean's playing him better than Orlando does, or Eric doesn't give a damn about being used.

Fucking pathetic, all three of them. Sean, for being petty enough and holding enough grudges that he's willing to drag someone innocent into this whole bickering mess between himself and Orlando. Orlando, for falling right into Sean's game and giving a damn about what Sean's doing with Eric. Eric, for letting his cock lead and letting himself get used.

_Used._ Orlando could show Eric what it's like feeling _used_ given enough time. But Orlando doesn't play to lose, so he's not going to make any moves in Eric's direction until the balance shifts again. Orlando's patient. He can wait it out.


	5. Painful Twist

Being braced for it didn't help at all, it turns out. It all still hurts. Eric knew Sean was fucking him mainly to get a reaction out of Orlando. Fair enough. And he knew he was courting trouble letting it happen anyway. But it was his choice. He's not going to pretend it's something noble like being in love with Sean. This is a hell of a lot simpler than that. It's obsession, wanting what he can't have, and it probably isn't going to stop even now that he's had Sean in damn near every way he could think of.

Problem with obsession running up against revenge is that it makes everyone's thoughts a little too predictable. Up against a wall with Sean's hands pressed flat to the surface and Sean's thinking _Does Orlando make you fight this hard for it?_ On Sean's bed on a lazy Sunday aftenoon and Eric wonders _How far are you willing to go to get back at him?_ Costumes tugged up around waists while Eric fucks Sean until they're both biting off screams and both of them know full well there's someone else in the room.

Malta's ending soon and Viggo's going to be coming to Baja. They ought to be fucking like every chance is their last.

Their last is sharp and furious, with all the words neither one ever intended to say.

"He doesn't give a shit about me. You figured that out yet?"

This is where Sean should be saying _stop, slow down, not so hard_. He doesn't.

"You've been wasting your arse on me. You still haven't got back at him--" Eric digs fingers into Sean's hips and jerks him back. "And I'm not as _fucking_ stupid as you think I am."

"I never -- _Christ_ \-- never thought that -- Eric -- please, Christ, I can't--"

"Fuck you," Eric hisses out, words feeling jagged on his tongue. He comes with fingers dug into Sean's hips, red and purple bruises left behind, and he doesn't give a damn that Sean's not coming with him.

Sean's words aren't angry, but they hurt more. He catches his breath, gets his second wind, and presses Eric's knees to his chest.

"I'm sorry, Eric."

Eric wants to tell Sean to stop -- _don't be sorry, I can't hate you if you're sorry_ \-- but his throat closes around the words. And goddamn him, Sean _does_ look sorry. He looks like all this means something to him. When they're alone and there's no reason to fake anything anymore, he looks like it means something.

Eric lets his eyes close as Sean finishes, and when Sean pulls Eric into his arms, Eric holds tight.

The flight home is cold, and Eric spends too much of it drinking. He has messages on his voice mail when his plane lands, and deletes them all unheard.


	6. One Fast Push

If there were a _you-break-it, you-bought-it_ policy on human beings, Orlando would own a half-dozen men by now. Eric doesn't fit in that category. Not _yet_. Orlando has plans.

He watches Eric drinking too much and doesn't say anything. He makes sure Eric gets home safely. Eric's been late to a set call once. Orlando made sure it didn't happen again.

_Patience._ Orlando keeps telling himself that. That he's waiting for the right moment. That right now isn't the right time, and he'll know it when he sees it. Timing is everything. Bad timing can ruin plans that have been months in the making. Orlando's invested too much effort in Eric to see it come to that.

Eric goes out at night, and he comes in bruised. He leaves fight practice still snarling and comes home looking no better for it. Sometimes Orlando goes after him, watching the men he fucks into walls and the men he goes to his knees for, choking on cocks thrust in by men with no finesse.

This isn't the way to break apart. Orlando's seen broken, and this -- it's not clean enough. It's leaving Eric ragged around the edges, and it isn't going to stop.

Orlando corners Eric the next time their paths cross. Puts his hand on Eric's chest and keeps him from leaving the elevator. This might be the wrong time for it, but it's the time he's chosen. He pushes Eric back and waits until the elevator doors close again.

"You're not going out tonight."

Eric's eyes flash, burn, but he doesn't move.

"It won't help," Orlando says, low, eyes steady. "Never does."

Eric doesn't put up an argument. He doesn't fight. He keeps his eyes closed while Orlando fucks him. Doesn't make a sound while Orlando hurts him and leaves marks that won't show under clothes and costumes but that make the ones Sean left so long ago seem light.

It doesn't help. Eric's eyes are still dead whenever he's not acting.

They're gaming each other all over again. Eric has wounds he doesn't want healed. Orlando thinks Eric might keep himself bruised just to keep Orlando from getting what he wants.

Orlando doesn't play to lose, though, and he wonders exactly how one comes to own a man through putting him back together instead of breaking him apart. And he has idle thoughts of what it'll be like to play with Eric once it's done.


	7. Lean On Me

Maybe he wants it this way. It's the only answer Eric has for himself, and it's a hell of a lot better than making excuses. Maybe he wants the way Orlando's been calling the shots. Maybe he just wants to go along with what Orlando wants. It's easier than thinking, and it gets him more of what he wants than sitting in his room alone did. Orlando wants to go out, so they go out. Orlando wants to stay in, so they stay in. Orlando wants to fuck him, so Eric gets fucked hard at the end of the day when exhaustion's making his eyes seem hollow.

Eric gives in because he chooses to give in. He knows Orlando didn't see that at first; in the beginning in Baja, when Eric was still burning up trying to do anything but watch Sean with Viggo, Eric did a decent job of hiding it. Stupid fucking games, Eric and Orlando, but it kept Eric occupied.

And it's occurred to Eric to wonder why Orlando's still around. Orlando knows, at this point, that he's only getting what Eric wants to give him. And sometimes that's not much. Sometimes it's just rolling to his stomach in silence and staying that way until Orlando drives in too hard or one time too many and Eric can't bite down on his wrist hard enough to stifle the scream.

Eric doesn't get angry at Orlando. It's hard getting angry when you know exactly what you're getting into -- something Eric said about Sean and didn't mean for a moment. But Eric walked into things with Orlando knowing Orlando was a manipulative little shit. Knowing all the tricks Orlando used in Morocco and the ones he's used since this shoot started. He came into it guarded, never intending to let Orlando in. He came into it obsessed with another man, leftover aching need making him so hard and so blind some nights that Orlando could put him on his knees and watch Eric crawl across the floor and beg.

All he'd have to do is lean on what Eric can't have. If he were to say the right word in the right mocking tone of voice -- and Eric's heard Orlando use that tone of voice on other targets -- he could rip Eric apart.

_Lean on it. Lean on it, you fucking bastard. Fucking lean._

Orlando's hands are twisted hard into Eric's hair, Orlando's cock buried deep in Eric's throat. Orlando's barely bothering to look interested, which is almost right. It's just not cruel enough. What Eric would say if he had his teeth and tongue free is _You can't take me halfway down and not fucking finish the job. Lean on it, you son of a bitch._

Somewhere in the back of Eric's mind, he's sure Orlando can hear the thought. Maybe he won't give Eric what he wants because that's not the way the game is played. Maybe he's waiting for something. Orlando has a fucking hidden wellspring of patience somewhere.

Eric doesn't. If Orlando doesn't lean on it soon, he'll lean on it himself. God knows what'll happen then. The part of Eric that looks hard at car wrecks is almost looking forward to finding out.


	8. Flourish

If all Eric had wanted was someone willing to break him, he could have stayed with Sean until Viggo actually landed on set.

Orlando knows better. He counts days sometimes, rehearses stinging remarks in the back of his mind. _Did you know it's been two weeks since Sean decided you weren't worth the trouble? Four weeks since you wore a bruise right here -- want a new one? It's been five months since you first met. Five months to the day. What were you like before you burned yourself up on Sean?_

He could lean on it. Could have done it at any time. He knows Eric's been expecting it -- maybe even wants it.

But it's too easy. And using what passes for Eric's feelings for Sean lacks a certain irony, so Orlando keeps waiting. He has a fairly good idea of what's going to happen when Eric's patience wears thin.

It all happens at once, which is exactly what Orlando expected. Neither one of them get to pretend any surprise at all.

They don't even make it out of the elevator. Eric slams Orlando against the back wall and presses his body against Orlando's back.

"I see him every time I'm with you."

"I know."

Eric snaps at Orlando's earlobe. "I'm with you because he didn't want me."

_I'm with you._ It's the first time either of them have admitted to that. The half of Orlando's face that isn't pressed to cold steel curves up into a grin, and he manages to swipe his tongue across his lower lip. "I don't care," he whispers. "Do you?"

Eric's paralyzed for a good fifteen seconds. Orlando counts them. But in the end, Eric peels them both off the elevator wall and hauls them out the doors as soon as they open.

It's never been this way between them. It's hard, rough and frantic, and Eric holds nothing back. He wrestles to get Orlando's arms pinned down, hisses when Orlando's hands leave scratches, nearly comes on the spot when Orlando's breath is warm in his ear and forms the words _fuck it into me, let me take it for you_. Orlando's hungrier than Eric's ever seen him, urgent in a way that's either the best Eric's ever been gamed or no game at all, and either way the thought's unimaginably arousing.

_Give me,_ Orlando says, taking everything Eric's got. _Take me,_ he offers, even when Eric's hurting him enough he thinks he might be bleeding. _Mine,_ and the word comes out of both mouths, snarled out in shared breaths when lips are almost fused together between bleeding desperate bites.

Afterwards, Eric curls up facing away from Orlando. It's a last-chance sort of move, giving Orlando room to laugh it off if he wants. Eric's not going to complain if he wakes up alone.

And he doesn't complain when he wakes up with Orlando.


	9. Endgame

Orlando is a manipulative little shit. Eric's seen it before, of course, in Morocco, in London, Malta, Baja. You give him what he wants and everything's fine. Stand in his way and he'll think of something to make you wish you hadn't.

Eric's found a third option.

Cannes is gorgeous, and even though Eric's suit is rumpled and he hasn't had time to duck into his hotel room for a shower, shave, and nap, he's not complaining. He's too busy watching Orlando flirting with everyone. Girls and boys. Actors and directors. Reporters and photographers. Every so often Orlando looks Eric's way and grins wide enough it almost hurts to look at him.

He's being gamed again. Orlando knows Eric has a jealous twitch. He knows part of the arrangement is Eric had damn well better be first choice, no matter who else Orlando shags in the meanwhile.

But Eric's gaming Orlando right back. He's got his own room. Enough pull and charm to make sure no one's going to give Orlando the key. And while Orlando might have had more patience than Eric in most respects, staying away from his lover when his lover's testing his resolve isn't one of them.

_Lovers._ The word still trips up Eric's mind, even though it's been months and it really shouldn't be so shocking anymore.

Eric catches Orlando's eye across the room and then looks away. There are plenty of reporters and photogaphers to smile at. Plenty of places to turn his attention.

It's a push-pull, push-pull between them. It always was. It's not likely to leave them bored anytime soon, and neither one of them's running out of steam for it.

Orlando is a manipulative little shit. Probably always will be. Eric's always known it, and he's not expecting him to change.

But then, Eric's fast enough to keep up with him. Fast enough to be prey only when he wants to be.

And Orlando's particular sort of manipulation suits Eric just fine.


End file.
